


Cats, Comics, and Tropical Islands

by Spunkybob5



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Caretaking, Cats, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, M/M, Smut, These tags make it all seem very dramatic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spunkybob5/pseuds/Spunkybob5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Castiel, and Sam are stalked by a shit-ton of cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing between Castiel and Dean is non-con. In case you were worried. I know, the tags make it all seem very dark. It's really not. Unless you're scared of cats. Then this shit is gonna be scary.

Really, Dean should have known the day was about to go sideways at the comic book store.

“I require clarification,” Castiel lowered the comic book, frowning.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean replied.

“Does Bruce Banner retain his memories as the Hulk? Does the Hulk retain his memories as Bruce Banner? Or are they two completely separate entities?”

“Yes,” Sam answered.

Dean tuned out then. He’d already made peace with Banner’s split personalities, and didn’t really need to have as cerebral a debate as Sam and Castiel were gearing up for. He hummed Metallica to himself, letting the white noise of his two favorite people wash over him as he perused the store.

He was examining the latest issue of Wonder Woman when his nose started to itch. Dean let out a huge sneeze. “Geez,” he muttered. He sniffed, glancing up, and found himself staring into the yellow eyes of a gray tabby cat. “Shit!” He jumped back, sneezing again.

“You all right there, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Cat,” Dean grumped, wiping his nose.

Sam reached out, gently scrubbing the cat behind the ears. He was rewarded with a deafening purr. “Don’t be such a whiner, Dean. She’s sweet.”

Castiel grabbed Sam’s arm, holding it away from the cat. He squinted at the animal, frowning.

“Cas?” Sam asked.

“We should continue our discussion on the Hulk outside,” Castiel dropped Sam’s arm and strode out the door.

Castiel was half a block away when Dean and Sam caught up to him. “Cas, stop, wait!” Dean panted. “What was that all about?”

“I became aware of someone watching us.”

“And you blamed the cat?” Sam asked skeptically.

“I believe the cat is a conduit.”

Dean frowned, still hustling to keep up with his angel and gigantic baby brother. “I always knew cats were evil.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Your allergies don’t make them evil, Dean.”

Castiel stopped abruptly. “We need to get off the street,” He nodded to the building, and Dean realized what Castiel meant. No less than three cats were watching them: one in an apartment window licking its paw, one crouched under a bush, and one just sitting on the sidewalk flicking its tail.

“What about a diner?”

“Seriously, Dean? Thinking about your stomach?”

“It’s not like they let cats into restaurants, Sam,” Dean defended himself. He wasn’t above taking the opportunity to have a little pie, though.

***

By the time the wait staff had thrown the seventh cat out of the restaurant, Dean and Sam were willing to buy fully into Castiel’s theory.

They’d chosen a booth in the back, away from any windows, and Sam had his laptop open, Googling every cat-related supernatural creature they could imagine. None of them seemed to fit.

“OK, so we’ve ruled out demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and shapeshifters,” Sam ticked off the various monsters on his fingers. “What about witches? Maybe these are companions.”

Castiel shook his head, “No, these are regular cats. I sense nothing unusual about the animals beyond their mission.”

Dean scraped the last of the crust and whipped cream off his plate, licking the fork enthusiastically. “So what uses cats?”

“Dude, you’re a mess,” Sam tossed a napkin at Dean. “Maybe it’s not a what. Maybe more like a who.”

“Ah, possibly,” Castiel nodded.

Dean pointedly ignored the napkin and licked raspberry filling off his wrist, “OK, fine. So who uses cats as spies?”

Castiel sighed, “There are still too many variables to consider. I am unsure.”

Sam snapped his laptop shut, “Maybe it would help to figure out who the cats are following. Like, maybe one of us is more interesting than the others.”

Castiel nodded slowly, “That might help.”

“Get the check then, Sammy, and we’ll split up.”

A few minutes later the three of them parted ways. Castiel headed towards the library, planning to continue Sam’s research. Sam offered to go to the police station to check on any weird crimes in the area. Dean, however, announced he was headed back to the hotel to find some allergy meds.

As he unlocked the door to their crappy room, Dean noticed a two more cats nearby. Neither seemed to pay him any attention, though. He wondered if they were just waiting for Castiel or Sam to return. Dean stepped into the room. He snagged his toiletries, digging out the Benadryl and popping four tiny pink pills. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

Dean awakened to his own massive sneeze. Before he could get his bearings, he sneezed again, then trice more. “Shit!”

Dean sniffed, still drowsy from the allergy meds. He started to roll over, planning to head into the bathroom to blow his nose on that cardboard the motel called toilet paper, but stopped when he realized he couldn’t move. “What the hell?”

Purring erupted from his chest.

Dean’s eyes snapped open. He was greeted by huge yellow eyes, blinking languidly. The grey tabby seemed quite comfortable on Dean’s chest, and pleased that her pillow was awake. Dean turned his head to the side, taking in the bonds that attached his wrists to the table. The metal cuffs held his hands roughly level with his ears about a foot away from his face. Dean tested his legs and discovered similar bindings on his ankles, spreading his legs about three feet apart and keeping his body stretched taut. Basically, his restraints weren’t uncomfortable, but he definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

Dean let his eyes rove the room. It was a theatre, and he was trussed up on the stage. Ancient dust-caked catwalks swayed over his head. The work lights were all that illuminated the stage, blessedly. He didn’t really need to have his stupidity in the spotlight.

The cat on his chest purred louder, creeping higher up Dean so she could rub her face against his. Dean sneezed into her ears, which did nothing to deter the tabby. Dean rocked from side to side, trying to dislodge the cat. “Get off, dammit!”

“Now, now, Kitten. She just wants a little affection,” A raven haired woman appeared his vision. “You should be honored. Cats don’t love lightly.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that on Valentine’s Day,” Dean snapped. He stopped moving, though, watching the woman warily. She was stunning, her regal features accented by flawless caramel skin. What caught his hunter’s instincts, though, was the coiled power in her movement. If he’d been drunk in a bar, Dean would’ve been all over that. Tied to a table, though, it was a lot more intimidating.

This woman was a killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always take the recommended dose of medication, kids! :-)


	2. Two

The tabby draped herself across Dean’s neck, and he sneezed for roughly the billionth time. The woman frowned, scooping the cat off Dean and setting her gently out of Dean’s line of vision. She stepped over to him then, brushing her fingertips across his face. Immediately, Dean’s allergies cleared. “Better, Kitten?”

Dean wrinkled his nose, testing. “Yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “No one should be allergic to cats. That’s a terrible burden,” She leaned over him, her touch now much less innocent. “Besides, if I’m going to keep you, I don’t want to listen to the sneezing all day.”

“Keep me?” Dean inwardly cursed at the squeak in his voice.

The woman smiled, showing sharpened incisors, “Oh, yes, Kitten.” Her nail (claw?) trailed down Dean’s chest, slicing open his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood. “You’re going to make an excellent pet.” She leaned over, her tongue flicking against Dean’s ear, “Imagine how pretty you’ll look in just a collar. With a little bell, of course.”

Dean closed his eyes. In another situation, her breath in his ear would have his cock jumping, but now he just felt nauseated. He closed his eyes, trying to take himself anywhere else. A tropical island, holding a rum-based drink with a little umbrella, perhaps. He and Cas, stretched out in a hammock on a pristine beach of white sand. Why had they never done that? He and Cas definitely needed to take a vacation together.

The crack of her slap across his cheek brought him back to the present. The woman smirked, turning her pretty face ugly, “Stay in the moment, Kitten. Having a goddess touch you is a privilege.”

Dean swallowed, “Who – who are you?”

“Your angel didn’t know? I’m hurt,” the woman tore Dean’s shredded shirt from his body.

“Angel?” _Fuck_ , Dean thought. _She’s after Cas_.

She slapped him again, harder this time. Dean could feel the handprint on his cheek. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re more than just a pretty face,” She leaned forward, her tongue tracing his lips lightly. Dean shuddered at the contact. “A _very_ pretty face.”

“But I’m being rude.” She straightened, stepping back so Dean could see her fully, “I am Bast.”

“The Egyptian cat lady?”

Bast rolled her eyes, “Yes, I suppose. Though I prefer to be known as a warrior.”

“OK,” Dean said, not really caring.

Bast narrowed her eyes, “Do not be flippant with me, Dean Winchester. If you are too much trouble alive, I have no problem with you being dead.”

“Bad news, _Kitten_ ,” Dean said. “I’m always trouble.”

“Then once the angel trades himself for you, you’ll die,” Bast shrugged, unconcerned. Her hand strayed to his jeans, sliding the zipper open slowly. She licked her lips, “Well. Maybe not right away. A cat does so love to toy with her prey.”

Dean gritted his teeth, “Don’t.”

Bast raised an eyebrow, “Why not?”

“Because,” Dean tensed as Bast pulled down his jeans, her claws (nails?) scraping against his skin. “I’m taken.”

“Oh, I know,” Bast purred, running her hands over Dean’s exposed thighs. “You are covered in that angel’s scent.”

Dean gave up pretending, “What do you want with him?”

“Yes, Bast. What do you want with him?” Castiel stood in the doorway, glowering. Power seemed to radiate off him. Dean’s heart skipped. Even with just half his Grace, Castiel was still a complete bad ass.

Bast smiled, showing her teeth. Her hand drifted to Dean’s cock, squeezing possessively. Dean winced. Castiel had never looked so livid. “Castiel, what a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances,” Bast’s words were formal, though her hands were definitely not.

Dean felt a stab of awe. Not many creatures could look an angry angel in the eye and not wince. It was a special level of stupid, but still. Dean admired her gall. He really wished she’d stop stroking his cock, though.

“Unhand Dean and I promise to kill you quickly,” The angel blade flashed in Castiel’s hand as he spun it, adjusting his grip.

“Come now, Castiel. I want to be friends. In fact,” She trailed her hand over Dean’s mostly nude form, stopping at his head, resting her nails (claws?) on his throat. “I would like to be more than friends.”

Castiel paused, clearly unwilling to attack with the goddess so close to Dean, “What do you mean?”

“Our time has come, Castiel. Surely you feel it,” Bast leaned forward eagerly, her breasts pressing against Dean’s nose and lips. Dean turned towards Cas, making a face of disgust.

Castiel didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on Bast, “What do you mean?”

“There is a power vacuum, Castiel. You’re a soldier; you must have noticed. God is missing. The angels can barely manage themselves, let alone watch over humanity. Most of the old gods are dead, thanks to hunters and the Apocalypse. Even Eve is dead, and most of her Alphas with her.”

“I don’t understand how this relates to your capture of Dean.”

Bast licked her lips, excited, “I’ve been watching you, Castiel. Well, my cats have. I know how badly you wish to atone for your sins. I can offer you that chance.”

“You?” Castiel scoffed.

“Yes, me,” Bast’s eyes narrowed. “You and I can reorder the world. Become my mate.”

Castiel blinked, “What?”

“What now?” Dean blurted.

“Hush, Kitten, the grown-ups are talking,” Bast patted Dean’s head, looking up at Castiel. “Become my mate, Castiel. We can create a new race of beings. Our cubs will rule humanity under our watchful gaze. We can protect them, Castiel. Under our guidance, no one will ever suffer or go hungry again.”

Castiel blinked, tilting his head. His angel blade lowered just a fraction. “You want to protect the humans?”

Bast smiled, moving in for the kill, “Yes, of course. We will watch over them. Care for them. Be their new gods and destroy any who seek to hurt them.”

Castiel look at Dean uncertainly, “What about Dean?”

“We can let him go, of course. But,” Bast stroked Dean’s throat, purring. “He’s very pretty, Castiel. I can see why you enjoy him. We can keep him, if you’d like. As a beloved pet,” she dropped her face until her mouth was a hairsbreadth from Dean’s, her eyes locked on Castiel’s. “Would it excite you to watch me fuck him?”

Castiel swallowed, reminding Dean of that night in the brothel, all those years ago, “He…is not aroused.”

Bast straightened, walking around the table towards Castiel. _No, not walking_. Dean decided. _Stalking. As in, Castiel was prey_. “He will be,” Bast promised. “Once he sees us together, he’ll be begging to be ridden.” She stopped about eight feet in front of Castiel, “Why don’t you put away that scary knife and we can get started, Tiger?”

“Cas, don’t!” Dean shouted.

Castiel blinked at Dean, “She’ll let you go, Dean. I know what I’m doing.” With that, Castiel’s blade vanished into his sleeve.

“Cas, dammit!” Dean pulled on his bindings in frustration.

Bast smiled, bearing her teeth once more. She took a triumphant step towards Castiel. Castiel opened his arms, and she stepped into them, pressing him back against the wall, her mouth on his before she even stopped moving.

Dean froze. The kiss seemed to go on forever. Bast pillaged Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel gave back as good as he got, drawing contented purring sounds from the goddess. Dean felt the nausea from earlier return.

Just when Dean thought he couldn’t take it anymore, Castiel pulled back, cupping her chin in his hand. “Bast,” he spoke softly.

“Yes, Castiel?”

“We both know an angel blade won’t kill you,” Castiel tightened his grip on the goddess as her eyes went wide. “But an obsidian blade dipped in blood from the vessel of an angel will.”

Which is when Sam _dropped from the freaking ceiling_ , landing behind Bast and plunging the appropriate knife into her back. The goddess screamed and Sam leapt back, narrowly avoiding the shock wave of power that always exploded from dying deities.

Castiel dumped her body unceremoniously on the floor, rushing to Dean. He held Dean’s face in his hands, concern etched across his face, “Are you all right?”

Dean swallowed, shaking, “No. I am definitely not all right.”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is not fine.

Back at the motel, Dean spent the next half hour staring at the inside of a toilet. Every time he thought he was done, he’d feel the echo of Bast’s hand on him, and he’d wretch again. Finally Dean determined there was nothing left in him, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. 

Dean stood in front of the mirror, propping himself against the counter. In the reflection, he checked to see that the door was still locked. It was, of course. He’d made it very clear that he wanted to be left alone.

Dean turned on the faucet, letting cool water fill his cupped hands. He sipped a little, rinsing the nastiness from his mouth. Then he filled his hands again, throwing water against his face, hoping it would wash away the nastiness he felt inside.

It did, marginally. Dean stared at himself in the mirror. _What’s wrong with you?_ He’d been molested plenty of times. Not in a go-to-prison kind of way. More like the occasional a drunk girl at a bar. Sometimes by monsters, too. Werewolves and vamps in particular were ruled by animal instincts, and when they got their hands on him, they _really_ put their hands on him. Some demons, too. Meg had kissed him that one time. And yeah, he’d felt pretty dirty then.

But not like this.

Dean struggled to identify how he felt. He cast around his mind, trying to remember something similar, another situation where he felt like this, something to give himself context.

Hell. This felt like when he was back from Hell.

Not that intensely, of course. But the same sense of inner filth, like he will never be clean, never be worthy…

_Wait. Be worthy of what?_

Dean paused, considering that. When he returned from Hell, he’d known he was unworthy – unworthy to be saved, unworthy to be reunited with Sam and Bobby, unworthy to just exist with regular humans. He still was, as far as he was concerned. But this time - he hadn’t _done_ anything.

The knock on the bathroom door tore Dean’s attention from the mirror.

“Dean? Are you alright?” Castiel’s worried voice floated in from the motel room they shared. “Can I help?”

That’s when it clicked. _I’m unworthy of Cas._

Bast had touched him, run her hands all over him, when he belonged to Castiel and no one else. And he hadn’t done anything, he hadn’t stopped her, he couldn’t stop her, if he’d been better he _would have stopped her._

Dean glanced at his reflection in the mirror. _Fucking useless. You don’t deserve Cas. And why would he still want you? You’re dirty. Used. Fucking. Useless._

With one last splash of cold water against his skin, Dean turned off the faucet. He scrubbed a towel over his face. Dean hung it up carefully, taking longer than necessary, before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

“I’m fine, Cas.”

Castiel frowned, “You do not seem fine.”

Dean shrugged, attempting – and failing – to appear nonchalant. “I’m just tired. I wanna sleep for a week,” Dean grumbled. That, at least, was true. Dean was exhausted.

Castiel looked as though he wanted to say something else, but thought the better of it. He settled on, “Let’s get you into bed, then.”

Dean pulled off his jeans and crawled under the covers. Castiel sat beside him, as he always did, and reached out to feather his fingers through Dean’s hair, as he always did. They both found the intimacy and simplicity of the ritual comforting.

This night, though, Dean flinched.

Castiel froze, then slowly pulled his hand away, as though he was concerned sudden movement would cause Dean to run like a frightened bunny.

“I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled. “I just…”

“I understand, Dean. Rest. I’ll watch over you.”

***

Dean didn’t sleep well. For the first time since he and Castiel got together, nightmares skirted at the edge of his dreams. Dean could practically feel the demons rubbing against him. They taunted him, too, but Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying over his own screams. Dean always woke up then, before the dreams got too intense. He could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, watching over Dean as he’d promised, and almost certainly keeping the nightmares from totally engulfing him.

Which is just one more reason Dean felt so badly shying from Castiel’s kiss good morning.

And from the hand Castiel offered while they walked to breakfast.

And the soft hug from behind as they stood in line at the diner.

Dean knew his skittishness had not gone unnoticed. When he stepped out of the bathroom after his shower, Sam and Castiel abruptly stopped their whispered conversation.

“You ready to go?” Forced cheer was not Sam’s forte, but he was trying.

“Yeah,” Dean bent to stuff his toiletries in his bag. “Hey, uh, you want to drive, Sam?”

“What?”

“I’m still pretty beat. Thought I’d catch some zzz’s in the back, you know?”

Sam and Castiel shared a look. “Sure, Dean. I’ll drive,” Sam opened his hand, and Dean tossed the keys right to him.

“Great,” Dean shouldered his pack. “Let’s go home.”

Once he reached the car, Dean stowed his bag in the trunk. He yanked open the back door, crawled into his Baby, stretched out, and closed his eyes. Dean really was tired, but that’s not the reason he asked Sam to drive.

No, the real reason was he couldn’t bring himself to share a seat with Castiel.

Dean groaned inwardly. Part of him already missed touching Castiel. Dean knew, intellectually, that letting Castiel hold him while he cried, while he confessed how dirty and used and unworthy he felt would make him feel better.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

This time, when Dean slept, there were no dreams.


End file.
